"I was kinder wonderin'," said Hank. "I guess you must know 'im purty
well. I just happened to notice how clost them two sets of tracks are,
over by that big tree. Like as if somebody with kinda little feet had
stood around talking to a feller for quite a spell. I kinda make a
study of tracks, you see--'cause I hunt a good deal. Ever study
tracks?"
"Why, no--" Marion's smile became set and superficial. "I do wish
you'd teach me, Mr. Brown."
"Well, come on over here and I'll show yuh somethin'." He reached over
and laid his hand on her arm, and after an involuntarily shrinking,
Marion thought it wisest to let it pass. Very likely he did not mean
anything at all beyond eagerness to show her the tracks. Why in the
world had they forgotten to be careful, she wondered. But it was hard
to remember that this wilderness was not really so untrodden as it
looked when she and Jack found themselves alone in some remote spot.
She went fearfully, with uneasy laughter, where Hank led. They stopped
beside the tree where she and Jack had talked the other day. Hank
pointed down at the telltale snow.
"It's dead easy to read tracks," he drawled, "when they's fresh and
plain as what these are. They's four cigarette butts, even, to show
how long the feller stood here talkin' to the girl. And behind the
tree it's all tromped up, where he waited fer her to come, most
likely. You kin see where his tracks comes right out from behind the
tree to the place where they stood talkin'. An' behind the tree there
ain't no cigarette butts a-tall--an' that's when a feller most
generally smokes--when he's passin' the time waitin' fer somebody. An'
here's a string--like as if it had been pulled offn a package an'
throwed away. An' over there on that bush is the paper the string was
tied aroun'--wind blowed it over there, I guess." He waded through the
snow to where the paper had lodged, and picked it up. "It's even got a
pos'mark onto it," he announced, "and part of the address. It must
a'been quite a sizable package, 'cause it took foteen cents to send it
from Los Angeles to Miss Marion--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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